Koyaanisqatsi
by ProfessorPalmarosa
Summary: Time continues to push forward for Team Galactic, even after Cyrus is gone. Yet once a year, on that grim anniversary, Saturn returns to Mission Control and attempts to make contact.
1. 23

It's been one year. The earth has made an entire revolution around the sun. No part of it recognizes how close it came to being annihilated, nor does it care. Our planet was never part of some great design, nor was life anything more than a curious accident.

It will continue to spin around in its predictable orbit, never daring to venture away or try anything new. Even when the sun starts to die, expand, and consume everything in its path, Earth will obediently stay in place. Mercury will go first. Then Venus. And if humanity's too stupid to figure out a way to escape, we'll be snuffed out.

No trace of us will remain. When Earth dies; so too will our history, our monuments, and all the precious things our ancestors built to withstand the test of time. Maybe we'll survive in deep space…or we won't. So far as the universe is concerned, that's of no consequence.

We miscalculated.

The Red Chains were designed to control Dialga and Palkia, but none of our research factored in the possibility of Giratina making an appearance, too. Mars and Jupiter were to escort you to Spear Pillar. Charon and I stayed behind in headquarters to supervise your exploration of the new world.

But I heard everything. I now realize you were never fully honest with me. I'd known about the plans for a new world, but not that you were willing to sacrifice this world—and everyone in it—to have one all to yourself.

One moment, I am watching a feed of you standing before these legendary creatures, ready to witness the birth of a different universe. The next, a third Pokémon emerges from the shadows and consumes you.

If my close my eyes, I can still hear Mars and Jupiter scream because they can't see you. I can't, either, and so I panic. They just keep calling your name, over and over, thinking that will somehow summon you back. It doesn't. There is nothing.

Some unknown person once said that insanity is defined as repeatedly performing the same action and expecting different outcomes. The quote was misattributed to Albert Einstein. No matter who said it, I must have looked and sounded insane because I did exactly that. I kept sending my signal to your transceiver, hoping for any sign of life.

"Please respond!" I'm certain I said it three, thirty, possibly even three hundred times.

I felt all those things you worked so hard to eradicate: terror, dread, loss, panic. Were you there to watch or hear me, you'd be disappointed. I proved in that moment how flawed and incomplete a creature I truly was.

I also realized how deep my love for you went. It wasn't anything intimate, nor was it romantic. Even if it were, you'd never reciprocate. You weren't that kind of person. And even if I'd felt such things in the past, at least Team Galactic managed to quash that.

The type of love I felt for you wasn't that of a lover, a brother, a parent, or a child. It wasn't even that of a friend. I loved you the way a disciple loved his god, and I nearly helped you destroy heaven and earth to prove that.

I loved the fact you were a walking contradiction. As much as you bottled up and repressed your own feelings, they still occasionally leaked out. I heard it in your speeches. You always started out as calm and stoic, but your words turned more excitable as the lecture went on. You rallied the spirit in our grunts, as well as in your Commanders. You got us to believe in you, all by using the thing you hated most to control others.

I wanted to see what you were going to do, but I never saw you again. You responded once…and only once.

You told me not to look for you.

I tried to get you to tell me where you were. In retrospect, that was foolish. Even if I knew, what could I possibly do to help you? Did you even want me to help you? You didn't answer, so I assume not.

You found what you wanted. There was no need to concern yourself with this world anymore.

I understood.

Not so long ago, the child who kept interfering with our plans made a visit to Veilstone City. They've gone on to be Champion. Sometimes I'll see their face on the news. In fact, just a couple of months ago, Charon managed to convince Mars and Jupiter to assist him with some harebrained scheme on Stark Mountain. The child interfered with that, too.

I hadn't expected to see them in person again. We talked for a little while about what happened at Spear Pillar. They asked about you, too: wanting to know if I'd seen or heard anything.

A world without spirit…who would want such a thing? And what to do with Team Galactic?

I won't be a walking paradox. I understand that extremism isn't going to solve anything. I told them that our commercials would stop being lies: that we really will search for new sources of energy.

It isn't in my capacity to create a new world, but maybe I can advance the existing one. Everything is in my hands now.

I understand.


	2. 27

It's been half a decade since we lost you, and yet the strangest thing has happened. Even without their sun, all planets remained in orbit: sticking to the same roles they had when you were here.

Charon's attempted takeover at Stark Mountain was a failure. As soon as I saw his wrinkled old face on the 6:00 News, I made an official statement that the corporation had nothing to do with him. He acted of his own accord and did not represent us in any capacity. I even went so far as to file a defamation suit, just to get the point across.

Jupiter and Mars, I forgave. They probably thought that following Charon would somehow lead them back to you. They had two leaders to choose from: one who wished to clean up Team Galactic's image and one who wanted to continue with more of the same. They chose the more appealing option and I can't fault them for that.

My legal department placed a few calls and I hired the best defense team your money could afford to get them back. I hope you don't mind.

I have given Mars more opportunities to represent us in Public Relations and Marketing. She has final say in what goes into our commercials, how much we should invest in online ads versus radio and television spots, and which charities we should donate to each year for the tax break. If anything hits the proverbial fan, she's the first line of defense.

Jupiter has become the face of Operations. Once a month, she and I go over the performance metrics to see how we're doing. I'll send her off to audit our suppliers and ask for her input on whether or not we should do business with other companies. Everyone has to be AS9100 certified, for instance. That's near impossible for most manufacturers to maintain.

We're talking about opening a satellite office in the Hoenn region. If that happens, she's looking at another promotion. I haven't mentioned it to her yet, because the whole thing will be moot if we don't win the Mossdeep contract.

…but enough on that. Let's talk about why I'm here.

Every year, I take this day off. I go into our old command center and lock the door behind me. I pick up my old headpiece, turn it on, and send you another transmission…but this year is special.

It's special because I'm now the same age you were when we lost you.

I caught a glimpse of myself on the way in here and had to do a double-take. I'll never be as tall as you, nor will my delicate frame ever manage to cut as intimidating a figure…but I have your eyes now. They're every bit as sunken and tired. I even managed to perfect your leer. You know the one. You used it on me when I lost to that child.

We're about to break ground on a new project—one I think you would have approved of—and I'm terrified. I've gotten quite good at hiding it, considering people are looking to me to lead, but there are so many ways it could go wrong.

I get by on minimal sleep. Half my meals are supplemented with caffeine pills, just to keep me alert enough to function. I'd rather stay up until the crack of dawn because my more innovative ideas come at night. Come morning, I review my work and pick it apart.

I have to play both roles now, you see. You aren't exactly here to tell me why something won't work.


	3. 30

You died this week…at least, you _legally_ did.

The statute varies for each region. In Kanto, it takes ten years to declare a missing person legally dead. In Kalos, it's only five. For Sinnoh, it's eight. I've heard nothing from you, nor have you given us any indication that you're still alive. You aren't obligated to. I just wish I knew what happened.

If you did die, I could at least take solace in knowing nobody will ever bother you again. If you're alive, I'm wishing you well. I hope you found what you were looking for and that it's everything you expected. No part of me wants to imagine that you're suffering.

Three years ago, I caught up to you in age. As hard as that was for me, receiving your death certificate hit me much harder. I've held documents like that before. I first saw one when my father died. I was eleven.

Speaking of fathers, I'm finally going to meet yours. As your Lieutenant Commander, I handled Team Galactic in your absence. I never realized you had also trusted me enough to put me in charge of your last will and testament.

You'd probably think it pointless and even a tad silly, but Mars, Jupiter, and I took the day off to reflect and reminisce. Some of the older grunts—those who were here long enough to remember you—asked if they could as well. I permitted it. Everyone grieved in their own private way.

On days like these, I wonder if maybe you were right. Maybe spirit is what hinders us from reaching our full potential. Grief is a terrible emotion. Just when I think I've collected myself enough to get back to work, my memories of you come back and I'm miserable.

I think I scared one of the newer grunts. She's never seen me cry before.

Newton's Third Law of Motion tells us that all forces in the universe come in opposing pairs of equal power. I think the same can be said for emotions. The sorrow and grief I feel is equal to the amount of joy and fulfillment your existence used to provide me.

I miss you so much. Please respond before I have to do this.

…

It was unsettling, seeing the place where you grew up. Your father still lives in the same townhouse overlooking the Sunyshore City beaches. While he doesn't work full time as a Quality Manager anymore, he in the process of training his replacement so he can retire and spend his final years in relative comfort.

Judging from the way our conversation began, I could tell he was counting on you for financial support. I knew better.

We very seldom talked about your childhood. Even then, you had far more to say about your mother than your father. To my memory, you only ever told me that your father was a cruel, quick-tempered person. I forgot how exactly you phrased it. I was paying more attention to how your entire body tensed up when you said his name.

I felt guilty. The only reason he came up in conversation was because my mother found some of my father's old things and called, asking if I wanted them. You overheard the end of that conversation, noted the melancholy in my voice, and wanted to remind me that my emotions were holding me back.

But I wasn't the one who squeezed the edge of my chair until my knuckles turned white when I talked about my father, was I?

I saw the family resemblance. You're both tall men with broad shoulders and hard faces. You have his cheekbones, his strong jaw, his large and calloused hands…and I got to experience firsthand what one of those hands felt like on my face when he struck me: something you would never do.

You left him nothing. He was very disappointed, but I suspect that even if you'd left him everything, it wouldn't have been enough. Some people are black holes; and your father is certainly one of them.

I asked about your grandfather, since he's the only relative you cared about enough to mention by name. If I'd seen your will prior to this, I would have known you wished for his final years to be comfortable ones. All medical bills were to be paid off, along with taxes on his house on Route 228. If he needed long term care of any type, you wanted to make sure some of your assets were spent on that.

…he died two years ago. And his bastard son-in-law couldn't even be bothered to cough up the money for a proper headstone.

I'm sorry. That's really all I can do for your grandfather. I also purchased an empty plot adjacent to his and a headstone for you. I know you aren't buried there, and you'd probably see that as a pointless purchase, but it isn't to me. It isn't for Jupiter, Mars, or your old associates, either. Now we have a place to congregate when we want to remember you.

I bought a nearby plot for myself, too.


	4. 35

My mother used to write pulp science fiction: the kind of cheap space westerns you could pick up at dime stores, read once for a quick thrill, and then completely forget about.

As a boy, I enjoyed her Choose Your Adventure stories the most. If you made all the right choices, you'd be rewarded with knowledge beyond your wildest dreams, or be able to stop a mad scientist from pushing the button to a doomsday device, or rescue a peaceful alien tourist from being dissected by shady government researchers. Sometimes I'd intentionally fail, just to see what kind of devious scenarios she'd invent. The good endings made me feel good, but I read those things for all the entertaining ways my decisions could go horribly wrong.

None of her work ever won a Pulitzer. In fact, one well respected sci-fi author dropped her name as an example of why people would never take the genre seriously. He called her "kitsch incarnate" and a "peddler of mindless pulp." That didn't deter her. So long as people kept buying her pulp, she'd keep writing it.

It's even how she met my father. He used to be her biggest fan.

When I was little, she wrote all the time. I even have a couple of children's books dedicated to me, not that I'd ever tell Mars or Jupiter that. I think you're the only person I told. You smiled and asked me what the titles were.

By the time I was six, my mother's writing became a little more popular. My father pushed her to try a few new things, so she did. She even managed to guest-write a couple of episodes for television. I don't think she managed to reach _Twilight Zone_ levels of success, but she tape-recorded the first time her episode of _The Outer Limits_ aired. I have that episode memorized from start to finish: every frame, every word, every action. To her, that video meant more than a Pulitzer.

Shortly afterward, she plateaued. My father pressured her to keep writing, offering her suggestions and ideas on where to take her stories when she got stuck. In his own way, he thought he was helping. She didn't see it that way.

Her depression was so bad that she began to suspect that everyone, myself included, only valued her for her writing. She feared that if she stopped contributing entertainment for others, our love for her would wither up and die. Then she'd have nothing but her empire of pulp to keep her company.

As she continued to climb her way out of her creative rut, her behavior turned more robotic. All she'd say to him was "yes, dear," and "of course." She rarely left the house. All I ever saw her do was sit at her desk and type for hours on end. Her fingers hit the keys so fast that it sounded like gravel hitting a trash can lid or the firing of an automatic weapon. Most days, she wouldn't even bother to get out of her pajamas or leave the house.

The quality of her work had gone down, but she made up for it in quantity. Just as soon as you bought one book, she'd have two or three new ones out by the end of the month. She cranked those stories out so quickly that people accused her of hiring a ghost writer.

That's because my father had a formula for what he liked to read and insisted my mother use it. "To best optimize your potential," he said.

She'd written enough to know what people wanted to read about and regurgitated the same tropes, plots, and even characters. Some were more popular than others, but she turned quite a profit. Even after she'd long since burned out and all the joy was sucked out of her words, the pulp still got peddled.

By the time I turned eight, my parents were divorced. My mother and I moved to Sinnoh three years later, after my father died.

I'm now as old as my father. I'm not a parent, nor have I ever been married. I haven't even found time for romance, nor do I intend to pursue it. I think that kind of relationship would distract me from reaching my full potential.

By the time I started high school, my mother found her second wind. After experiencing years of burnout and writing to a formula rather than trusting her instincts, she wrote something for fun again. She never found the nerve to take that novel to a publisher, but she was proud of it.

I read it. It's the best thing she's ever written.

I wonder if enough time has passed for me to show the world what I can do outside of your shadow. Just as I promised the Champion twelve years ago, Team Galactic began conducting research on alternate energy sources. It's finally paid off.

Several uninhabited areas have been repurposed into solar farms. We have enough clean energy to power the entire region, as well as the barrier islands. During my last trip to Floaroma Town, I saw some of our wind turbines in the distance.

In my last metrics review with Jupiter, we were able to study well over a decade's worth of data. The carbon emission stats speak for themselves. The region is cleaning up. We're gathering contracts left and right.

Mossdeep Space Center in Hoenn has even given us the contract to build their next space probe. There's speculation that there may be signs of life beneath the icy surface of Europa. We're going to be part of that. Everyone is very excited.

You're actually the second person I told. Considering how much I've shared about my personal life this year, I think you can venture to guess who I called first.

She's proud, but she's still convinced that I'm leading a cult rather than a corporation.


	5. 40

Charon died. I'm surprised he lasted this long.

I was with you from the start: your first and most devoted employee. I dropped half of my net worth into starting this company because I believed in you. I even gave you full access to my trust fund.

As we expanded, I understood the need for more Commanders. I interviewed Jupiter and Mars, giving you my feedback shortly afterward. You concurred that they were suitable for what we needed, so we hired them. They are still loyal employees. One of Mars's daughters, Rhea, is actually interning in our R&D division this summer.

You hired Charon behind my back. If I'd been put in charge of interviewing that man, he never would have stepped foot in Team Galactic.

He was shady long before he came here. Some of the claims he made—such as discovering a rare species of Pokémon—were so preposterous and out there that I couldn't take half the things he blathered on about in any seriousness. He always struck me as the kind of blowhard who tried to make himself sound more important and accomplished than he actually was.

I had no time for that sort of nonsense. Actions spoke louder than words, and I selected the other two because their actions spoke for themselves.

You trusted Charon more than you trusted me. He knew what you planned to do at Spear Pillar. He knew what purpose Dialga and Palkia were truly meant to serve. You deliberately kept me in the dark. I think you even lied to Jupiter and Mars, but not him. Never him. He was in on your sick joke.

A part of me always suspected Charon had some kind of dirt on you. The way he addressed you was different. You were always _Master Cyrus_ to us. He gave no such formality. Either he was overly arrogant and too cozy in his Commander position, or I wasn't seeing the entire picture.

Once you were gone, I asked Human Resources to show me the background check we did on Charon when he was first hired. No part of me wants to believe you read this and hired him anyway. I'll admit he was a gifted scientist, but this…did you even _realize_ what he'd done in the past?

Charon only came back to Sinnoh because the heat was on in Kanto. International Police detectives were investigating several Silph Co. scientists, trying to find out who helped Team Rocket with their attempted takeover.

He was among them. You aided and abetted a known criminal. For all we know, he could have been an agent of Team Rocket. He was never a loyal employee, let alone your friend.

So no part of me is saddened to tell you that he passed.

He escaped from prison a grand total of three times; rather impressive, considering how old he was.

The first time was only a couple of years after the Stark Mountain fiasco. They'd placed him in Minimum Security due to his age, but he and a few other men escaped. Charon made it as far as Route 228, but the police caught up with him and dragged him back, kicking and screaming the entire way.

He even had the audacity to call my office, asking if Team Galactic could hire a lawyer on his behalf. He fed me some lie about a top secret project, but I didn't believe him. I encouraged the district attorney to recommend moving him to a Maximum Security facility. They didn't hesitate.

The second time, he slipped out during a power outage. It was a foreign nation and he ran into some difficulty navigating through it. Somebody recognized him from one of the Most Wanted posters printed in the Metro and called the authorities.

The third time, he didn't even make it outside of city limits. It wasn't the police who stopped him, but a stroke. A lifetime of stress and unhealthy habits finally caught up with him.

It's the only time I decided to visit. It's also the only time I gave him any money. In your will, you asked that your grandfather's medical bills be paid…but I only found after he was already dead. Considering how highly you seemed to think of Charon, I supposed you would want some of your money to go to his medical costs, too.

I was shocked by what I saw. He was so _thin_ …

Half his body was twisted and gnarled into a permanent grimace, unable to move. His glasses were on the nightstand, but I could tell Charon recognized me. The one eye that still worked leered at me with hate. Even though he couldn't talk or move, I still saw that same bitter spirit burning in his eyes. He died thinking the whole world had wronged him.

But he donated his body to research; so maybe a part of him wished to contribute to a better world after all.


	6. 48

Your original Commanders seldom meet in person anymore. Most of our meetings are teleconferenced. Jupiter's handling our deep space program in Hoenn and Mars does a substantial amount of travel with her job. She's still recovering from jet lag after the Unova conference.

It's long overdue, but I decided to name two new Commanders. Rhea has worked with us for five years: starting as a grunt and climbing up the ranks within R&D. Mars couldn't be prouder that her little girl is turning into somebody just like her.

My other Commander, Mimas, is in our QA department. He's done such a good job with our compliance audits that I feel like I can leave him unsupervised with the registrar. At least he won't say anything that'll throw our aerospace or military contracts into jeopardy.

I decided to name them after my planet's satellites rather than planets or plutoids. After all, _you_ didn't pick them. They are completely mine. By this point, I kind of feel like this organization is solely mine. I lost you half a lifetime ago and you're not coming back.

I don't know if you would be pleased with the direction I've chosen to take Team Galactic, but the world truly is better.

I have successfully made it affordable for tourists to travel to space. It isn't much to brag about—just a trip to the moon and back—but it's enough to hype us on television and get the world excited about what comes next: a supposed manned mission to Titan. More people than ever want to invest in our company. Our shareholders are thrilled.

The joke's on them. We're not going to Titan.

Mimas was given express orders to control all information within the facilities to ensure nobody leaks what we're really planning. A wormhole was spotted close to Titan, and the data reads very similar to what we saw when the portal to Dialga and Palkia opened.

We might be able to make contact with you after all.

Most of my mother's pulp novels took place on space stations and foreign planets. Her universe was a wild frontier of danger, action, and undiscovered wonder. We were never alone, even when we wanted to be. Considering all the Europa probe brought back to us were some frozen amino acids, I think it's safe to conclude we're the only intelligent life in this solar system. I feel very alone.

I also envy Rhea and Mimas. They're so young, so strong, and so full of promise. I was like that once. Now I can't even pass the physical to join them on the shuttle. This next generation will get to travel our solar system and perhaps even beyond. They'll reap the reward, while I'm condemned to die here.

I can't explore those worlds with them, but I can at least guide them from Mission Control.


	7. 54

Six years. It took us _six years_ to build, test, train, and prepare…and I'm right back where I started. I stood at Mission Control, staring at the screen in shock, and watched as all my hopes and dreams went up in a puff of smoke.

Just like last time, Mars is screaming. She's calling out the same name over and over, thinking that will somehow bring her daughter back. I'm calling for Rhea, too, along with Mimas. But it's no use. There's no way either one of them could have survived this.

We were so sure of ourselves…

Mere weeks before the launch, Mars represented us for several TV interviews. We had fifty different newscasters and cameramen come to our Veilstone, Mossdeep, and Goldenrod facilities so the world could see how advanced our technology was. Rhea and Mimas were on our billboards, proudly sporting their updated uniforms: this time conditioned for deep space.

The whole world was going to watch our triumph. Every channel broadcast the launch, and I oversaw everything. I had a radio feed to both of my Commanders, stood in front of the monitor, and felt such pride in my heart. I couldn't have been more thrilled for them had they been my own children.

By the time we began countdown, it was all I could do to contain my excitement. This was a dream come true. I even prepared sleeping quarters for myself just across the hall. That way I could monitor their progress around the clock. This was going to be my entire life until Rhea and Mimas returned, and I was prepared for that.

But they're never coming back. They didn't even successfully leave.

As soon as we tried to launch the shuttle, something went wrong. They're still looking over the remains to determine the root cause for the explosion: a miscalibrated piece of equipment, perhaps. Right now, our legal team says it's highly possible this was corporate sabotage.

They keep replaying the explosion on the news. Each time I close my eyes and try to sleep, I hear it. I hear Mars screaming Rhea's name in anguished desperation, shrieking for the universe to give her child back.

I hear myself, over and over…

 _Please respond_ …

We're done. This is as far as we go.


	8. 62

**Author's Note: There will be an epilogue chapter after this one, but we're quickly approaching the end. I hope you've enjoyed Koyaanisqatsi thus far and will be interested in perusing other stories within my library.**

 **Plus, for anyone who enjoys musical accompaniment to stories, I did find a song for the finale right here: watch?v=cCUepJnw5xQ . Honestly, most of VNV Nation's works feel apt for the Galactics. They're well worth a listen.**

...

It's over. The Veilstone building was the last to close, but I'm turning the keys over today.

Our proprietary and intellectual properties have been sold and snatched up by rival corporations. We're being devoured slowly, and we're too deep on the event horizon to recover. I settled the last lawsuit today.

Ironically, it's Mars who drove the final nail in Team Galactic's coffin. I settled out of court with her team of lawyers. I didn't even care how much restitution she wanted; I gave it to her because no amount of money could bring back what she lost.

I gave 44 years of my life to this company. It's the only real job I've ever held. It was waiting for me when I turned 18, and now I'm fairly sure I'm the same age Charon was when he joined. I've been in command for four decades. I'm old enough to be somebody's grandfather, yet I have nothing to show for myself but death and disappointment.

My hubris robbed us of a future. You have no legacy left, and neither do I.

The world won't recognize our accomplishments. In your era, we were the people who nearly destroyed the world. In my era, we became the people who killed innocent astronauts on live global TV. Any enthusiasm for space travel will be set back several decades. People will talk about this for years to come. They'll associate us with failure, forgetting every advancement we gave them.

I gave this world everything I had, thinking that I could prove you wrong. I wanted to validate its worth: to prove that not all parts of the human spirit were bad. Once you were gone, I started believing in ambition, passion, pride, and determination. I proved how much we could accomplish once we worked together and applied ourselves. I used to love this world. It's the only one I'll ever have.

Now I won't miss it.

…

"Master Saturn? Sir…it's time."

He bit his lip, taking one last look at the monitor. Every year, he came in here and tortured himself for a few hours, offering a one-sided conversation to his dead god the way some people prayed to their imaginary ones.

It unnerved some of the younger members. Anyone who had been with Team Galactic from the start didn't judge Saturn for it. The new wave of employees had never known Cyrus. They couldn't possibly understand the effect he had on people.

Cyrus probably died in Giratina's realm decades ago. Now his temple was being shut down forever.

Saturn's eyes were wet as he pushed the power button and watched as all lights in the room shut off, this time for good. The backlighting for the keyboards dimmed first, and then the transparent touch-screen monitors. Finally, the large screen in the center of the room—the front and center stage for every annual instance of psychological flagellation—turned to black.

Most everything was already in boxes, including the uniforms. That final week had felt so strange for him. He'd told his employees that there was no further point in enforcing the dress code. Grunts came into work in jeans and t-shirts, still with that same bright green bowl cut. Saturn had worn his uniform to the very end, but even Jupiter showed up to her retirement party in a plum-colored pant suit.

"You don't have to come with me," Saturn remarked. The grunt saluted him anyway. "This could end badly for you."

"Sir, I'm already flying you out to Mt. Coronet. I might as well stick around to take you home if this doesn't work."

"How old are you?"

"22. Why?"

"When I was your age, I lost my world. I reigned over what was left of it like a loyal steward for four decades. I tried to fix it, but I couldn't."

He took a closer look at this young man. He was out of uniform and had already styled his green hair into something a little more trendy, but Saturn saw the concern on his face was genuine.

"I still thought humanity had a fighting chance back then."

"It still does," the boy replied firmly. "One failure is going to cement everything? You're just going to give up and go?"

"Not…quite…" They were supposed to liquidate all company assets as part of the settlement with Mars. Saturn couldn't fully comply. The most critical data was backed up on his tablet, and in that suitcase…

' _I just need to subdue Dialga and hit the rewind button. At the very least, we're owed a do-over._ '


	9. Final Entry

' _This is the place. I couldn't be there the first time. I saw the whole thing remotely, but here it is._ ' And even four decades later, he could still feel the presence of something foreboding and not entirely of this world. This was the one day out of the entire calendar year where the barrier became soft enough that a clever enough person could access it.

In the past, all Saturn did was re-watch the old data feed for Spear Pillar. He'd replay Cyrus's final moments; watch the legendary guardians of Time, Space, and Antimatter; and try to figure out how exactly his leader died.

Sometimes he speculated that Mars or Jupiter could have pushed Cyrus out of the way and taken his place. Other times, his brain played cruel tricks with him, saying that the miscalculation was his fault. Or Charon's.

For the longest time, his running theory was that Charon intentionally screwed up the data so he could take control of Team Galactic.

Saturn hadn't only promised clean energy. He delivered it, along with far more. The public had been so excited by all the company's innovations that the world believed him when he said Team Galactic was a reformed, legitimate business. Their books were clean. Their employees were fine, upstanding citizens. They donated company hours to give back to the region.

The world trusted him so much that nobody thought anything of it when a Galactic Grunt or two were spotted near the lakes…or when certain treasures vanished from museums.

He only wanted Dialga. Considering how badly he screwed over this world, the last thing Saturn wanted was the responsibility of creating a brand new one. These last few subordinates weren't Commanders: just a motley crew of loyal underlings whose names he'd never even bothered to learn.

When the portal appeared, he approached it in complete abandon. ' _This is it,_ ' he told himself as he entered. ' _Either I'll come back…or I won't._ '

…

The Distortion World resembled an M.C. Escher painting, only painted in vibrant shades of magenta, cyan, and violet. Islands floated in nothingness. To his left, right, above, and below: there was no real concept of up or down. And if Saturn fell, would he ever land? Or would he simply continue to fall indefinitely?

Gravity felt lighter. The air felt thinner. He'd had asthma problems as a boy and seemingly outgrew it, only for it to come back in his fifties. The atmosphere in here required deeper, slower breathing. If he ran too far or overexerted himself, that would be it. He'd suffocate.

A large, dark Pokémon floated in the background, sauntering about like a dragon float in a parade. ' _That's the same one I saw,_ ' he realized. ' _The one who took Cyrus away…_ '

He'd ceased to be _Master Cyrus_ ages ago. For the longest time, Saturn mentally forced himself to keep calling him that, but eventually stopped. There was nothing quite like controlling an old associate's corporation for forty years to leave a man disillusioned.

' _I was so naïve when I first met you. One of the men who did cover art for my mother's novels was part of an art exhibit, so I wanted to support him. It was mostly Syd Mead's work. Blade Runner. Tron. Dune. I fell in love with a painting of a space colony, complete with lush green farms in all directions.'_

His father had insisted that if people worked at their full capacity at all times, humanity would have everything these dream-like portraits promised. He even cited that many of Jules Verne's predictions about submarines and satellites became reality a couple of generations later.

Cyrus had been in attendance. He remarked that Ray Bradbury had told us there were telepathic men on Mars, and that H.G. Wells believed in time machines. Just because someone could dream it, that didn't necessarily make it possible.

Saturn supposed that had been true from the very start. Their goal had shifted from creating a better existing world to scrapping the whole thing entirely. Without spirit, there would be no dreams. Without dreams, there would be no aspiration. Without aspiration, there would be no disappointment. Without disappointment, there would be no conflict. And without conflict, there would be no pain.

"ARE YOU EVEN HERE?!" he yelled, falling to his knees. As soon as he did that, he realized just how much air it would take to restore his lungs to full capacity. His words resonated, causing the islands to shake and Giratina's scarlet eyes to glow at him from the distance.

He had wasted his entire life talking to the void. The void never talked back.

Until now.

"Why?"

Saturn's head turned so fast that he felt something spasm in his neck. There, sitting fewer than three meters away, was the same gaunt, pale man he'd built his entire life around. Cyrus was still 27. His hair wasn't any longer. His clothes were slightly torn, but not dirty. He didn't appear any thinner, sicker, or more exhausted than he'd appeared that day all those years ago. His jaw was still clean-shaven without so much as a single piece of stubble.

Time hadn't affected him. This wasn't Dialga's realm at all.

"Why, Saturn?"

Saturn had so many things he wished to say, but none of them came out. When he tried to speak, it felt like his words cemented together into a thick, heavy stone of unwanted air. He couldn't move his tongue. Only shaky breath came out. He'd lived almost two lifetimes' worth of duty without this man, gone through so many hardships alone, and Cyrus still recognized him?

' _I suppose he would. Aside from Charon, I was his only male Commander.'_ And Saturn had taken the utmost care of his body. As old as he was, he was still the same small, slender fellow he'd always been.

"Please tell me this isn't a rescue attempt. I told you not to look for me."

Saturn wasn't sure what to feel in that moment. "Every year…I tried to contact you…" And not very far away, Saturn could see Cyrus's radio. It was shut off, but otherwise in working condition. "Did you…even…"

' _He doesn't care,_ ' he realized. His heart sank. ' _When he left us all behind, he ceased to care._ '

"We failed," Saturn choked. " _Badly_."

He expected to see rage on that face, or even an echo of disappointment. Sometimes echoes of emotion leaked out of Cyrus and scared everyone in the room. Not this time.

All Cyrus did was lean back, letting his shoulders and the back of his head touch the dead earth. "There was never any other outcome for that world, Saturn. It was destined to fail."


End file.
